Anne Palumbo: Want celebrities to come knocking? Research this!

Every day now, people I don’t even know want to help me with a problem whose scope seems a whole lot worse than I ever knew.

These people – many of whom are famous! – seem to be very worried about what is happening to my appearance.

“Friend,” they say in that touching, online way, “we are deeply concerned about your aging, sagging, wrinkled, discolored skin. Let us help you.”

My new best friends caught wind of my problem when, one slow night, I went online, looking for skin creams. What triggered the search, besides feeling older than Cher’s teething ring, was what greeted me in the mirror one morning.

Holy elephant hide, I thought, while inspecting fissures as deep as the Grand Canyon, I need to up my skin-care regime. So, I started poking around the internet.

Since then my e-mail inbox has been swamped with generous skin-care offers from my new BFFs. Mega-model Cindy Crawford, in particular, has reached out in a way that supersedes my very own family. Unlike them, she has taken a keen interest in my neck. Yes! My neck! Even though she has never seen me, she feels a deep need to firm it up.

But it doesn’t stop there. Other celebrity friends also want to help erase or at least halt what they all call the “visible signs of aging” – the crow’s feet, age spots, jowls, and, oh, I forget what else. It’s overwhelming…the concern.

Personally, I wish my new BFFs would address something that drags me down even more: all the “invisible signs of aging.” No one seems to care about what you can’t see, though, and, frankly, I think these issues are aging me faster than my grown children’s relentless requests for cash.

What am I talking about? I’m talking about, say, the crotchety clucking that occurs whenever I see inappropriate clothing on young women: super high heels, plunging tops, cheeky shorts, and skintight skirts. Hello? I used to wear some of that stuff. And look where it got me? Nowhere. Ha, just kidding, I love having “minimum wage” as a goal. My point is, all this petulant pecking is giving me frown lines.

I’ve also developed a serious scowl whenever I hear bad grammar, which, these days, seems to assault my crabby ears 24-7. Plus, since I can’t really take strangers to task, I’m dealing with a bilious ball of suppression that can only advance aging. Gulp.

Page 2 of 2 - I’m stymied. Do I target the visible? Focus on the invisible? Ah, in the end, who really cares? So long as no one mistakes me for Whistler’s Mother, and I can still snork my way through a cob of corn – I think I’m good to go. Sorry, Cindy and everyone else. Group hug?